


Black Market Honey

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Community: au_abc, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-03
Updated: 2006-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1940s England. The Americans have joined the war and set up air bases throughout East Anglia. One of them, unusually, has a British medical corps. When Serenity returns from a mission with an injured crew member, her infamous captain meets the wonder-child of the RAMC for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is there honey still for tea?

**Author's Note:**

> Another post for my [](http://au-abc.livejournal.com/profile)[**au_abc**](http://au-abc.livejournal.com/) [table](http://woodsong-1978.livejournal.com/14415.html#cutid9). Many thanks [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for the thorough beta and for assuring me that it's okay to be this long. This is purposely written with British spellings for a change.

Simon skidded to a slightly muddy halt just as the propellers stopped turning, his bag clutched in one hand, the other pushing wet hair out of his eyes. A decidedly disgruntled face poked out of the hatch, glared at him, and then withdrew immediately.

"Captain? Get Frye down. Your doc's here. I think."

"Don't try too hard on the thinkin' there, Cobb." A marginally less grumpy face appeared. "Shit. Goddamn Brits. Asked for a doc, not some wet-behind-the-ears kid!"

Simon sighed, wiped rain from his face again and held up his case. "You got a doctor, Yank. And if you can manage not to be wet behind the ears in this kind of weather, you're doing better than me."

The captain's expression shifted through brief surprise to assessment and finally grudging approval. "Secret to that's not being out in the rain."

"Yes, well." Simon tried not to stare as the American vaulted down to the ground. The man wasn't exactly handsome, but he did manage to be infernally attractive. And, of course, he held himself with all the arrogance of his countrymen. Simon decided to dislike him on principle, and out of self-defence. "You radioed for a doctor?"

"Yeah." The captain turned back to grasp a small pair of legs. "Got it, Cobb. Get the others out, go report. Alleyne's gonna be over for you in a sec." He took firmer hold of the person being handed down to him, and Simon caught the first glimpse of his patient. The boy - definitely not old enough to shave - was limp in the man's arms, pale and streaked with grease. "My mechanic," the captain announced, unnecessarily. "Best damn grease monkey I ever had. Got tangled in the door mechanism."

"Where?" Simon set his case down and moved closer. "Let me see."

"In the main bay... oh, right. Left arm."

Simon peeled back the remains of the filthy sleeve and winced. "Stretcher team's on the way. We'll get him back to the hospital, clean that up, see what's left of that arm. What's his name?"

The captain hesitated. "Frye."

"Christian name, Captain." Simon pulled a temporary dressing from his case and carefully fixed it in place.

"Uh... Kaylee."

Simon stared at him, and then looked more closely at his patient. "You brought a _woman_ into this God awful mess?"

The captain muttered something inaudible and shifted Kaylee in his arms. "Ain't important now, Doc. Can you fix her up so she don't lose it?"

Simon reminded himself that his own sister was also involved in the God awful mess the war had descended into and brought his attention back to the task at hand. "Well, we'll do our best."

"Not 'we', Doc." The captain shook his head. "I need your word that _you_ won't take it off. Only way you're taking her over to that hospital's if you tell me you're gonna be responsible for her."

Simon frowned in disbelief. "If I don't take her, that arm's going to get infected and she'll _die_."

"Take it off, may as well shoot her. Girl lives for her machines."

"I give you my word I will do what's best for her, Captain."

The American held his gaze for a long moment before nodding once. "Good enough. I'm trusting you with her. Don't let me down."

Simon let out a huff of exasperation. "I assure you, Captain, I know my job." He looked around as the roar of an engine announced the arrival of a van. "Since those blasted stretcher bearers seem to have lost themselves again, we'll be needing a lift." 

"Done."

"And..." Simon wet his lips nervously. He'd heard that Americans had access to the sort of supplies that the English government kept strictly rationed. "Honey."

The captain raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Don't think you and I are that intimate just yet, sweetheart."

"No." Simon tried very hard to be irritated at the man's flippancy, but couldn't stop the smile forcing its way onto his face. "I need honey."

"Got a sweet tooth, Doc?"

"Look, Yank." Simon's smile disappeared rapidly. "We've been fighting this damn war for five years now. We're running low on pretty much everything, including medical supplies. What we get goes straight out to the front. The best alternative I know of for what she needs is honey. I don't want to know how you get hold of it, but if you want to improve her chances of keeping that arm, you'll get that honey. Fast."

"Get in the van." The captain waited until Simon was settled, then handed Kaylee up to him. "Cobb, you're in charge of this lot. Washburne, back to the barracks, Doc needs honey. Fetch it, meet us at the hospital." He hauled himself into the back of the van, and rapped on the side. "Alleyne? Hospital. Frye's down. Rest of you are gonna be walkin' back."

There was a muffled "Sir!" and the vehicle lurched into motion. The journey across to the hospital was short, but long enough that the shaking roused Kaylee to incoherent moans. 

On arrival, Simon gently handed her down onto the gurney which hurriedly arrived, jumped down and followed them in, leaving the captain and his driver to come in out of the rain or not, as they chose. "Responsible. Honestly. Who does the bloody Yank think he is?"

The redheaded nurse looked up, surprised. "Him? Don't you know, Captain?"

"Odd as it seems, I'm not on first name terms with every American on the base. Room three, please."

She nodded, hurrying to keep up. "Everybody knows Captain Reynolds."

Captain Reynolds. Simon almost stopped dead in the corridor. That was Malcolm Reynolds? The man was practically a legend on the base. Said to have the luck of the devil, and the fierceness, too, when it came to protecting those under his command. Simon thanked his stars this was a quiet time and he actually had the leisure to tend to Kaylee. He didn't want to find out what would have happened if they'd been as busy as last night and he'd had to turn the mechanic away in favour of the more seriously injured. 

"Captain Tam? Are you all right?"

Simon came back to himself with a start. "Fine, thank you. Now, let's see what we can do about this poor lad's arm."

"Lad, sir?" the nurse asked, doubtfully.

"Lad," Simon repeated firmly, tapping the tag around Kaylee's neck. "Kenny Frye, just like it says. Probably got himself a girl waiting on the farm would like him to be able to use that hand again sometime."

She giggled. "Right, Captain."

***

Mal paced the cold white corridor impatiently, the end of a cigarette drooping from his fingers. If the kid was as expert at doctoring as he was at talking, Kaylee was in good hands. He'd been more than a little taken aback, not to mention impressed, when the doc had snarked back at him so quick. About time he found a Brit with a touch of backbone. Trouble with being on a base, you tended to mix pretty much with the others who'd volunteered to come over and rescue Europe's sorry ass from the Nazi menace. It was unusual to have a British medical corps, but they seemed to do the job well enough. He'd already heard good things about how they'd dealt with the fallout from last night's missions. 

"Captain?"

Mal looked around to see Corporal Washburne brandishing a jar. "Wash?"

"Uh, not quite sure how to say this without suggesting anything, but I brought your honey."

"Thanks, Wash. Where's Cobb?"

"Dropped the report off, went to see the chaplain. Had a letter through from his mother. Seems his brother's sick again."

"Poor kid."

"Yeah." Wash filched a cigarette from Mal's pocket and dropped into one of the hard wooden chairs to light it. "How's Kaylee?"

"Still in with the doc." Mal forced himself to stop pacing and leaned against the wall, drawing on his cigarette.

"Heard you lucked out. Caught Tam still on shift."

"Huh?"

"You've not heard? He's their wonder-child. One of the youngest in the whole Goddamn forces, and one of the best. Rumour says they were planning on sending him out to the front, get him on the quick fix, but the top brass decided he's too useful back here, patching up the real messes that get invalided home."

"Huh." Mal was trying not to be intrigued. "So how come he's ended up on the base, not over at the san?"

Wash grinned and took a drag on his cigarette. He enjoyed an audience. "You can't tell anyone else, sir. You know how the Brits are on gossip."

"Damn good reason, too, Corporal. Tell me anyway then tell me where you found out so I can kick some ass."

"Can't reveal my sources, Captain. She'd kick my ass harder'n you can, regardless of how fond of it she is. And there's no guarantee I'd be lucky enough to catch Tam on shift again to tend my hurts."

Mal relaxed. Alleyne knew everything, always. Their driver was a reliable source of information, and close-mouthed with it. Mal didn't question how she found things out, and Zoë didn't volunteer to tell him. Though he'd have to have a word with her regarding sharing it with Wash, even if the pair of them were sweet on each other. "Tell me, Wash. Don't make me order you."

"Well, gossip says his sister's something secret and important in Intelligence, and he was trying to persuade her out of it. She got posted overseas, and he got sent here to cool his head."

"You're saying he's a traitor?"

"God, no!" Wash looked horrified. "Just protective of his baby sister."

"Right." Mal dropped the butt of his cigarette to the floor, grinding it out with his foot, and then finally reached out to take the honey, setting it down with a click on an empty chair. "This goes no further, hear me?"

Wash nodded.

"I mean it, Corporal," Mal said emphatically. "Talk like that could destroy the man, and if he's as good as you're telling me, he don't deserve it and the country's gonna be needing him. So you tell no one, and if your hear anyone else talking that way, you come to me and let me know. I'll deal with it."

"Don't usually show so much interest in the Brits, sir." Wash stubbed his cigarette out against the gleaming tiles and gave a sly grin. "Could it be that the famous Reynolds defences have finally been breached? Could it be that, finally, you've found the one man that -?"

Captain Reynolds dragged the corporal out of his seat in a flash, fingers fisting in the man's collar as he slammed him against the tiled wall. "Enough, Corporal. That kinda talk's enough to get me thrown out of the service and shipped back home to a cosy little jail cell. Those famous defences you're mocking are there for a damn good reason, and you'd best not be forgetting that and letting your tongue flap loose 'less you're wanting to be flying under Captain Womack." He dropped Wash in an untidy heap and turned away. "He ain't so likely to be willing to turn a blind eye to what you and Alleyne are getting up to, neither. We clear on this, Corporal?"

Wash gathered himself and stood, a dazed expression on his usually good-humoured face. "Crystal, Captain."

"Good." Mal lowered himself onto the chair, drawing out another cigarette. The packet was nearly empty. "'Cause I didn't enjoy that."

"Me, neither," Wash said feelingly.

"Go make your report, Wash. When you're done, do me a favour and check I've one of each left in my trunk?"

"Yes, sir!" Never deflated for long, Wash left at a fast pace.

Mal tipped his head back and closed his eyes, bringing the cigarette up to his lips and trying not to think of the fear in Kaylee's face when she'd realised that her sleeve was trapped, or of the handsome young doctor now tending to her.

"Captain?"

Mal's eyes snapped open again at the soft enquiry, cigarette tumbling down to be caught in clumsy fingers. Looked like fate had decided said handsome young doctor would be troubling him some more. Though the man could be a sight more handsome if he didn't look ready to drop from fatigue. "Something I can do for you, Doc?"

"I need to know what you want me to do with your mechanic." The doctor made a visible attempt to stand straight, but his shoulders persisted in falling back into a weary slump. "If I don't sign Frye on as fit for duty, he stays here, and your secret's out. If I do... well, Frye's not going to be physically fit for duty for several days, at least."

"You leave that to me." Mal pushed himself up off the chair and paced across to the young man, noticing that he was only a couple of inches shorter than Mal himself. "If you're willing to sign he- _him_ as fit, I'll take care of it."

Mal found himself on the receiving end of a piercing blue gaze as the doctor studied him then nodded slowly. "Very well, Captain. We'll be done here in half an hour. Did you manage - ?" He broke off with a relieved smile as Mal scooped up the jar and held it out. "I see you did. Thank you. This will help her immensely."

Mal had to remind himself not to watch as the doctor strode purposefully back along the corridor.

"How's she doing, Cap?"

He looked around to see Cobb lurking by the door. "Can't say yet. Gonna be fine, though." Mal rolled his shoulders back, trying to ease tense muscles. "Doc says he'll sign her back to us in a half hour. I gotta go get our report signed and ratified. You wait here 'case I'm not back in time."

Cobb nodded, sagging into one of the too-low chairs. "Will do, Cap."

"Thanks, Corporal." Mal squeezed his shoulder briefly, making the big man look up at him. "Jayne? Sorry to hear 'bout your brother."

Jayne avoided his eyes. "Mattie's tough. Ma'll see him through."

"Never doubted that for a moment, Jayne. Would take something stronger'n pneumonia to go up against your Ma and win."

That provoked a grin from Cobb, and Mal flipped the unlit cigarette to his Corporal and left to report, finding himself hoping that he'd get back in time to see Tam once more.

***

It took longer than Mal expected to make his full report. HQ had concerns over accuracy, and some crazy plans regarding ways of improving it on the next day's bomb run. Mal had to bite his tongue more than once, and silently vowed that if it came to a choice between following some of those orders or keeping his people safe, he'd take the responsibility of disobedience. There was a difference between dying for a cause and dying for stupid tactics, and creative thinking could find a way around most orders.

The hospital corridor was empty, and echoed to the sound of his boots as he moved further into the building in search of Kaylee and - he might as well admit it in his own head, where no one else could hear - the doctor who'd been tending to her.

"Can I help you, Captain?"

Mal turned in surprise at the sound of the female voice to see that a nurse had appeared in the doorway of one of the rooms. A very pretty nurse, with rich dark eyes matching the glossy hair just visible under her cap. "Uh...I'm looking for my mechanic, nurse...?"

"Sister Serra," she supplied crisply. "I'm going to need a little more information than that."

Mal offered her a winning smile. She glared. He withered. "Kid called Frye. Got brought in coupla hours back."

"Ah, Captain Tam's patient." Her face softened. "Second turning left, third door on the right. And if you can persuade him to stop and rest, I'd be grateful. Poor boy's going to work himself to a breakdown at this rate, and we rather need him."

Mal eyed the sister curiously. "See what I can do."

"Thank you, Captain." The door closed firmly behind her, and Mal followed her directions to a small, private room. 

Mal could clearly hear the sounds of Kaylee's laughter through the open door, and entered to see her sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her left arm was wrapped in a pristine sling, her right hand gesturing expansively while holding a cup of tea. Cobb was in the chair next to the hospital cot, grinning as he watched her, a cigar lodged firmly in his teeth. 

Mal reached over to rescue the imperilled tea, laughing at her shocked expression. "Can't let you go wasting good tea, Kay," he commented, setting the cup safely on the cabinet. "Practically treason in this country. How's the arm?"

She smiled up at him, not at all abashed at his tea-napping. "All patched up, Cap'n. Dr. Tam does real pretty work. Says I can go right back to work."

"That's not exactly what I said, Private."

Startled, Mal glanced back over his shoulder to see the doctor leaning against the wall. Recalling the sister's words, he took the opportunity to look closer, noticing the shadows under his eyes, the darkness of stubble growing through and the way the man really was using the wall as support.

"No, it ain't," Cobb growled around his cigar. "Wouldn't sign her out to me."

"No," Tam agreed calmly. "Your captain said he'd look after her, so we waited for him. Good afternoon, Captain. I'll fetch the paperwork. Light duties for seven days, Frye."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Kaylee offered him a mock salute. The doctor paused for a moment, looking slightly confused, and then left. Kaylee heaved a sigh. "He sure is cute, ain't he, Captain?"

Mal had to stop himself from agreeing with her aloud. "Ain't for you, Kay. Don't get too starry-eyed over him."

"Oh, that way." She gave him a wise look. "Was only looking."

Mal decided the subject really wasn't worth pursuing further. "You're really fine?"

"A-O-K, Captain. Said it looked worse'n it is."

"Which doesn't mean you can throw yourself back into your engines, Frye." Tam had returned with a sheaf of papers, which he held out to Mal. "Just a couple of signatures, Captain, then you're all free to go."

Mal fished around in his pockets for a pen and duly signed where indicated. "How 'bout you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You free to go?" Not waiting for an answer, Mal tucked the pen away again. "Cobb, get Kay back to barracks and keep her away from my girl. Be with you soon. And Kay?"

"Yes, Cap'n?"

"No dancing for you tonight. That's an order, Private," he added at her whine. "That bandage of yours is a mite too conspicuous."

"Yes, Cap'n," she agreed sulkily, and let Cobb herd her away.

"So." Mal turned his attention back to the doctor, who was leaning against the wall again, eyes closed. "Seems to me this is a touch topsy-turvy, but I hear you got customs on meeting new folk here." He stuck out a hand. "Captain Malcolm Reynolds of the fifty-second, pleased to meet you."

Dark lashes rose and weary eyes met Mal's. "Yes. I was told who you were by the nurses. Forgive my ignorance - and my rudeness. It's been a long shift." The doctor peeled himself away from the wall and took Mal's hand. "Captain Simon Tam, RAMC. Likewise."

Stunned at the pulse of heat that shot through him at the mild contact, Mal held the slender hand longer than politeness required before releasing it. "Yeah. Heard some 'bout you, too."

"You shouldn't listen to gossip, Captain Reynolds." The mask of the doctor was back in place, cooling the flash of warmth in those incredible eyes to flinty ice. "Careless talk -"

"Costs lives, yeah, heard that, too. So how 'bout 'stead of spouting platitudes, you tell me the truth of it?"

Tam shook his head. "It's not relevant."

"Another time." Mal let it go. "She really gonna be okay?"

"She? Oh, Frye." The doctor folded his arms, tucking his hands firmly under armpits where Mal couldn't reach them. Papers rustled as they creased against his body. "As long as her arm doesn't get infected, she'll be fine. She was very lucky."

"Lucky to catch you, by all accounts." Mal waited for a response, but none came. Tam had turned away to stare out of the grimy window. "So, how do I keep her from getting infected?"

"The honey should do that. It's why I asked for it."

Mal studied the tense back presented to him. "Right. Grateful for all you've done for her. How 'bout we do something for you in return?"

"For me?" Tam's head whipped around in surprise. "It's my job, Captain. You don't need to do anything for me."

Mal held the young man's wide-eyed gaze steadily. "Let's just say it's something I'm wanting to do, then. Said it's been a long shift. How long, you don't mind me asking?"

"I... I don't..." Tam looked away again. "What time is it?"

"Coming up on thirteen hundred."

"Oh. Sixteen hours."

"Sixteen... no wonder that nurse was worried on you!" Mal stared, trying to see the strength that had carried the slender young man through the frantic night and kept him still standing. "Well, that's that settled. You're coming back with us to get some shut-eye."

"I have my own bunk," Tam protested. "My own room, even. And I need to get this filed - "

"Which will take two minutes." Mal twitched the papers from his fingers and steered the doctor out into the corridor, looking around until he saw a familiar face. "Sister? Get these filed for the doc here, would you? He's going off shift."

Sister Serra gave a faint smile of approval as she took the forms. "About time, too."

"Et tu, old girl? I might have known you were plotting against me."

"Not _against_ you, Simon. Go. Rest, relax, and don't come back before tomorrow evening, even if Major Sullivan sends for you."

"No worries on that front, Sister." Mal grinned. "We're finding him somewhere safely away from here to kip down. Can't be sent for if the messenger can't find him."

"Don't I get a say in this?"

They both turned to look at the exasperated doctor. 

"Don't think so, Doc. You just tag along with me, and don't fret."

Tam turned an incredulous expression on the sister. She smiled serenely and pushed him in the direction of the exit. He raised an eyebrow at her, glared, and then stalked off with Mal in close attendance.

***

Simon woke in unfamiliar surroundings, his nose buried in a pillow that smelt of leather, smoke and spices. Blinking at the low light levels, he rolled over and sat up, trying to ease some of the knots out of his neck and back. He was in one of the smaller barracks blocks, one he'd visited just three days before to help the stretcher-team deal with a private who'd been over-indulging in English beer to a dangerous extent, not realising how much stronger it was than the American variety.

"Hey, Doctor."

Simon pushed fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to neaten it, looking around for the source of the voice. A slight movement from the bed opposite gave him the clue, and he looked over to see Kaylee Frye smiling hesitantly through the gloom. "Um... hello."

"You doing okay there? Cap'n brought you back and then you just kinda collapsed."

"I did?" Vague memories stirred. Simon remembered being intensely irritated at Captain Reynolds' insistence on bringing him over here, cold rain as they crossed the base and then sudden warmth, dryness and dizziness as he'd ducked inside.

"Yeah." She sat up, hugging her knees. "Cap'n said as how you've been overworking some and just needed to sleep."

"Right." Simon set his feet on the floor and bent down to locate his shoes, wondering who'd taken them off and why he didn't remember. "How's the arm?"

Kaylee made a face. "Smarts some, but I've done worse. He likes you, y'know," she confided.

"He - who? What?"

"The captain." She grinned. "He don't usually take to new folk, 'specially not English folk, but he likes you. Was all worried 'til he'd got you tucked up in his bed."

"This is... _his_ bed?" The idea was disturbingly attractive, and meant that the scent of the pillow Simon had been soothed by was the smell of Malcolm Reynolds. That idea was even more disturbing, and more than a little arousing.

"Well, it sure ain't Jayne's or Tracey's. Cap'n'll be back soon. He's been waitig' for you to wake up, only he had to go check on his girl."

His girl. Well, of course the captain would have a girl. Probably a whole string of them, compelling as he was. Probably Jane or Tracy, whoever they were. Or both. "Right. Well, please tell him I'm grateful for the use of his bed, and I'll check that arm again tomorrow." Simon finished tying his shoelaces and stood. "I hope he'll forgive my rudeness in running away before he gets back, but -"

"Leaving us already, Doc?"

Simon froze.

"Hope you ain't planning on going back to work so soon after what that sister said." Malcolm Reynolds stood in the doorway, his presence spilling into the room.

Simon tried hard not to stare. It was obviously still raining outside, as the captain's hair was plastered flat to his head and the shoulders of his jacket were darkened by water. It looked good on him. "No, not work. I need to get back to my room, get cleaned up, shave..." He rubbed a rueful hand over his chin. "I promised Inara I'd escort her to the dance in town tonight."

"Inara?" The captain began unbuttoning his jacket. 

Simon carefully didn't watch. "Sister Serra."

"Huh." The jacket came off and was slung carelessly onto the bed behind Simon. "You two sweeties?"

"What? No!" Simon turned away to face Kaylee as Reynolds began on his shirt. 

"No need to get het up, Doc. Just making a polite enquiry is all. We got a towel knocking 'round this dump someplace, Kay?"

"In your trunk where you left it, Cap'n." The girl grinned.

"Thanks." There was a metallic sound of buckles opening then a slight creak. The next time the man spoke, his voice was muffled. "She sure is a fine looking woman, that sister. Think you could ask her to keep me a dance? That's assuming you can spare her for one, 'course."

Simon stared at Kaylee in surprise. She winked at him cheerfully. "Well, I'll ask her, but won't your girl object?"

"My girl?" There was a snort, the rasp of a match against the rough wall and then the smell of cigarette smoke. "Don't have a girl, Doc. Your English roses just ain't my type."

Kaylee giggled.

Simon was confused, and said so. "But... Kaylee said you went to check on..." He looked back over his shoulder at the bark of laughter. It was a mistake. The American's hair was tousled from its encounter with the towel, and Simon's fingers itched to reach out and smooth it back down. He was still shirtless, too, revealing a tempting expanse of tanned, scarred, muscled torso. Simon refused to even consider what his fingers wanted to do to that.

"That girl? Oh, Kay tends to her the most of the time. Still, she's worked hard for us today." He eyed Simon speculatively. "Say, Doc, since you're all set to go, why don't you come meet her? Say how do all proper-like."

Simon suspected the captain of exaggerating his accent to make him self-conscious. He was determined it wasn't going to work. "I'd be delighted."

Reynolds smirked and, picking up his jacket, slung it on and fastened it over his bare chest. "Well, now. Let's move."

"You can't go out on the base like that! You'll get court-martialled!"

"Ain't likely to do anything of the sort 'til after we're done with tomorrow's orders. Not over a little thing like a shirt more or less. After you, Doc."

Shaking his head, Simon led the way out into the early evening rain.

***

"Well, here she is! Ain't she a beauty?"

"That's your girl?" Simon squinted through the soggy twilight.

"Yep." The captain beamed, slapping one hand against the fuselage. "Captain Simon Tam, meet Serenity. Finest girl ever flew. Never let me down. Don't dance much, though, even with Wash at the controls."

"She's certainly,ah... attractive," Simon managed. He hugged his greatcoat closer. However much sleep he'd had, it wasn't enough, and the cold wind and rain were making him shiver. He really had no idea how Reynolds was managing in only his uniform jacket.

A warm hand fastened on Simon's wrist and dragged him closer. "Here. Get yourself under her wing. She's good for more'n flying. Makes a fine shelter on a wet night, too."

Startled, Simon looked up. Reynolds was too close, or not close enough. Their eyes locked, and Simon caught his breath, no longer feeling the chill of the evening air. Reynolds' hand slid up to Simon's shoulder, and his grin faded.

"Doc?" The voice was husky and uncertain.

Simon licked his lips nervously, tasting the metallic flavour of rain running down from Serenity. "Captain Reynolds?"

"Call me Mal." Neither of them moved.

"Then you must call me Simon." He was proud of how steady he sounded, until Mal's other hand closed on his other shoulder and heat rushed through him.

"Reckon I might, Simon."

"Captain? Captain!"

Mal's hands fell away and Simon stepped back hurriedly into the open. Mal watched him move away. "Alleyne?"

"Got ten minutes then we're starting for town without you!"

"Be right there!" he called back, never taking his eyes from Simon. "Best you go get dried off, then."

"I... Yes." Water dripped down from Simon's hair onto his nose. He didn't move.

Surprisingly gentle fingers brushed the drop away. "Don't wanna keep your lady waiting."

"Yes." Greatly daring, Simon raised his hand to lightly touch the fingers still hovering near his face. "I mean, no."

Mal's lips quirked and he turned his hand to catch Simon's. "So... we done here?"

Simon swallowed. Hard. "No."

"Could be you're right, at that." Mal slowly released Simon's hand. "I'll see you at the dance, maybe?"

"Maybe." Simon smiled, wondering what exactly was happening. It couldn't be what he was thinking. Hoping.

The captain nodded, backed away, and then turned and ran off into the twilight. Simon watched him go, heedless of the increasingly heavy rain.

It couldn't be that Mal had been about to kiss him. It couldn't be that he'd been about to kiss Mal. It couldn't be that he was disappointed that he hadn't. It couldn't. 

Could it?


	2. The deep night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serenity's crew have some leisure time before their morning mission. A certain young surgeon escorts a certain Sister to the local dance, but leaves with someone else...

The dance hall was already crowded by the time Simon helped Inara out of her coat and offered his arm to lead her in. She took it with a sweet smile.

"May I get you a drink?" he asked, politely. The band was tuning up, and the room buzzed with quiet conversation and laughter. 

"No, thank you, Simon. I'd rather dance."

"Of course. Though we should wait for the music to begin." He glanced over towards the stage, using the excuse to scan the crowd. Uniforms were predominant, muddy blues and khakis contrasted by the occasional splash of colour that showed a local girl or a nurse off-duty. Like Inara, glowing in cherry-red. "Oh, and Captain Reynolds specifically requested a dance with you."

"Did he?" She laughed as they strolled slowly along the hall. "Well, I'm sure I can spare him one dance. If he even turns up."

"He's already here, over by the bar with Cobb and Washburne," Simon commented before thinking. He looked down to see her raising an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Inara shook her head reprovingly. "Be careful, Simon. I know you like him. Just... Try not to like him too much."

He sighed, covering her small hand on his arm with his own. "That warning might be a little late, old girl." A burst of saxophones from the band announced the start of the band's first set. "Still. Would you do me the honour?"

She turned to him, resting her other hand lightly on his shoulder. "The honour is all mine."

Simon summoned a tired smile and led her into the dance, pushing thoughts of Malcolm Reynolds to the back of his mind.

***

"Saw him soon as he came in, didn't you, sir?"

Mal tore his eyes away from the enticing sight of Simon Tam moving in rhythm with the music to see Alleyne watching him, a slight smile playing around her mouth. "Can't think who you might be meaning there, Zoë." It sounded unconvincing, even to his own ears.

"Right, sir."

"Zoë, love of my life, time to trip the light fantastic?" Wash grinned hopefully at her. 

Alleyne slipped off the bar stool and took his hand. "If you're asking for a dance, honey, that's a yes." She hesitated. "Sir?"

Mal drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Go on, the pair of you. I got myself a dance promised with a pretty nurse."

"Not that, sir." Alleyne stood her ground, ignoring the corporal eagerly tugging her arm. "Just wanted to say… be careful, sir. Don't go liking him too much."

"Could be a mite late for that warning, Zoë." He stood up, gaze fixed across the hall on a graceful spot of cherry red and her partner. "Go dance. And if you're late back to barracks tonight, Wash, could be I'd turn a blind eye this once. Long as you're back by oh-seven-hundred."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Wash threw off a sloppy salute and dragged the laughing Alleyne into the energetically swirling crowd of dancing couples.

Mal took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and followed.

***

Three dances later, Simon's lack of sleep was catching up again and Inara was teasing him for his lack of stamina. He shook his head, drawing her away to the side of the room where he could lean against the wall.

"I'm sorry, Inara, you'll simply have to find another partner. I need a rest. And a drink!"

"Will I do?"

Simon looked around at the American voice, and found himself staring into the warm, blue eyes of Malcolm Reynolds. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. "Do?"

"As a dance partner for the pretty lady." Mal grinned, and his eyelids drooped slightly as his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I… ah… Inara?"

She shot a warning glare at Simon, and then turned a polite smile on the newcomer. "I'd be delighted, Captain."

Mal offered his arm to Inara, and a courteous nod to Simon. "Doctor."

"Captain," Simon returned, and watched them melt into the crowd. Not that he lost sight of them. Mal stood out, his enthusiasm and agility drawing merry laughter from his dance partner.

Simon gave up pretending he wasn't interested, bought himself a drink from the bar and found a chair near the band to enjoy the view. Hopefully anyone noticing would think he was watching Inara.

"Simon Tam? Is that you?"

"Billy Davis?" Simon twisted around to see the bandleader pointing a clarinet at him.

"In the flesh, old chap. What in God's name are you doing here?"

"Working, my dear fellow." Simon laughed in delight at the sight of his old friend. "Some of us have to. There's a war on, you know."

"I noticed. Well, well, well, Simon Tam," Davis marvelled. "Not working this evening?"

Simon hooked an arm over the back of his chair. "No. Though I see you are."

"We never stop. Hang on, let me park the old liquorice stick for a sec." Davis set his clarinet on a stand, and addressed the nearest musician. "Fred? Lead Apple Tree for me, I'm working on reinforcements."

"Gotcha, Bill." Fred raised his trumpet. "Set, Kate? Bert?"

The two singers nodded, and a soft brush of snares began the next song.

"So, how about it, Tam? Sit in for the rest of the set?"

"Bit rusty, Davis," Simon warned, already standing up. "And I can't answer for tuning."

"Already checked it," Davis informed him smugly. "Come on, Tam. Four songs. You can back out before the second set. And you won't have to dance any more."

That decided it.

***

"Should I be insulted, Captain?"

Mal jerked his eyes back to the woman in his arms. "Insulted, Sister?"

"It is generally considered polite to pay attention to your dance partner," Inara chided, eyes sparking with amusement.

He arranged his face into a suitably contrite expression. "Lady, a thousand apologies. I am truly a worthless fool to neglect such beauty and grace." Mal freed one hand to lay it solemnly over his heart.

She studied him for a moment, refusing to give him the laughter he was seeking. "He likes you. More than he should."

Mal stared. "He? Who he?"

"Simon." Inara captured his hand again and gently urged him back into the dance. "You impressed him, even before Bridget told him who you are." She spun neatly under his raised arm. "He doesn't have friends here, and most of the American officers he encounters are only concerned with how soon they can get their men back on duty."

"No good having a man on duty ain't truly fit for it," Mal replied, dipping her low enough that her unbound hair touched the floor. "Just be a danger to himself and others 'round him."

She shot him an enigmatic look. "There are many dangers, Captain. Some of them you don't see coming."

Mal didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I like him too, Sister. Most likely more'n I should as well."

"And therein lies the danger." Inara smiled sadly, and then turned to applaud as the song ended.

"Care for another turn around the floor?" Mal offered.

"Thank you, Captain, but no. I prefer my partners to be thinking about me when I dance," she said lightly. "I'm selfish that way."

"Why, ma'am, can't see that any man'd have the wits to think on anything else if'n you were dancing with him."

Mal rolled his eyes and turned to the young man beside him. "Not drunk tonight, Private?"

"No, sir. Learned my lesson, all right." The private grinned nervously.

"Well, then. Private Tracey, Sister Serra. Don't you pay him no mind, Sister, the boy was born with a silver tongue and the urge to flirt."

"Only when I see a beautiful woman, Cap." Tracey moved forwards to take Inara's hand. "You got a Christian name, Sister? 'Cause you sure look like an angel to me."

Inara laughed as the first piano chords rang into the expectant dancehall. "I appreciate the warning, Captain, but I'm only looking to dance."

"Oh, I can do all kinds of dancing," Tracey assured her.

Inara's lips quirked. "He's drinking whisky and soda, Captain."

"What? Who?" 

"The pianist." Inara slipped into Tracey's arms and let him lead her into the dancing.

Mal headed over to the bar. He didn't remember a pianist with the band earlier, but she was right, he could definitely hear someone playing a piano. Rather well. The singers reached the end of the chorus, and the piano took a solo, notes rippling over the lazy bass and hushed brass. Mal couldn't quite see who was shaping the melody. He collected his beer and the whisky and soda he'd automatically ordered from the barmaid and went to find out. He'd almost reached the stage when he was finally clear of the dancing couples and saw Simon, grinning at the bandleader, fingers moving assuredly over the keys. His jacket was open, as was the top button of his shirt, and his sleeves were rolled back to reveal strong forearms.

Mal quietly moved closer and set the whisky tumbler on top of the old upright piano. "Man of many talents, I see."

Simon looked up in shock, mouth dropping open slightly to reveal a very pink tongue. "Mal! I mean, Captain!" His fingers slipped and he hurriedly returned his attention to the keyboard, resolving the dischord into a run that somehow signalled the end of the solo. Once the singers began and Simon settled into the rhythm, he spoke again. "I thought you were dancing with Inara."

Mal shrugged, still watching the slender, elegant fingers. "She found a new partner. Guess it's something she does a lot."

"Yes, she does love to dance. I'm sorry Captain, you are rather… distracting." Simon flushed. 

"Don't mind me. I'll just leave you your drink and wait over at the bar. You come find me when you're done." Mal tapped the tumbler. 

The song finished, and Simon pushed hair back from his face. "Thank you. For the drink."

"Pleasure, Simon. You'll come?"

Simon nodded. "I'll find you."

"I'll be waiting."

***

Simon finished the promised four songs, and found Davis staring at him questioningly.

"Nightingale?"

Simon grinned. "Last one, Davis?"

"Promise." Davis waved his clarinet. "Nightingale?"

"Nightingale."

It had always been one of Simon's favourites. Shamelessly romantic, sweeping harmonies, it fell exactly under his fingers. He was almost sorry when it ended with a final trill of clarinet, and he heard Davis announcing the break to the audience. Simon closed the lid of the piano, collected his drink, nodded his thanks to Davis and walked over to the bar.

Mal was waiting, as promised, at one end of the bar, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. Simon took a hefty gulp of his drink, and went to stand next to him.

"Quite a musician." Mal tapped his cigarette over an ashtray by his elbow.

"Thanks," Simon replied awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

Mal drew on his cigarette again, not meeting Simon's eyes. "Alleyne told me to be careful of you."

"Of me?" Simon took another sip of whisky, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing. "Inara told me to be careful of you."

Mal looked up at that. "She did? Strange woman. Kept trying to tell me you're dangerous, and you like me. Sure you two ain't sweeties? 'Cause if she's getting jealous, could kinda understand that."

Simon wondered if that meant what he thought it meant. "I'm sure. I was never… I'm not very good at talking to girls."

Mal's eyes locked with his, and Simon caught his breath. "No. Reckon you don't have a lot of interest in girls, some ways." He ground out his cigarette, leaving the butt smouldering in the ashtray.

"No, I… no." Simon tossed back the last of his drink and put the tumbler on the bar without looking. He couldn't break away from Mal's steady gaze. He didn't want to. "Frye said you like me, too. And you didn't spend long dancing with Inara, either."

"So." Mal straightened, setting his beer on the bar. "Here's the two of us, not much time for girls, and liking each other."

"So we are." Simon's heart pounded as he tried to read the message in the heavy blue gaze.

"You know, Doc, I'm thinking you're in need of some air. You're looking a mite flushed there."

"It's warm in here," Simon managed.

"It is at that. Fancy showing me the English moonlight?"

Simon closed his eyes briefly against the sudden light-headedness. When he opened them, Mal was still regarding him steadily. "My God, yes!"

***

It wasn't soft; it wasn't sweet; it wasn't tender. It wasn't slow or hesitant, or any of the other things a first time was supposed to be. They spilled out of the smoky dancehall into the cold night air, breath fogging before them, and stumbled around the corner to an alley that seemed almost designed for their wants. There were no more words. Eyes met and held, mouths collided, bodies crashed together, hands groped at buttons. No finesse, no foreplay, no waiting, just a desperate need to connect, to know they were alive and together for this one moment. Buttons gave way and fingers found hard flesh, pumping frantically, grinding, bracing against the wall and each other for balance. It was over in moments, intense need sending backs arching in urgent release, mouths gaping against one another in silent screams of pleasure. Hands retreated, fastened buttons, bodies parted, leaning against the wall as chests heaved, fighting for breath. 

The captain turned and laughed shakily at the medic, speaking for the first time since they'd left the warmth of the crowded bar. "Wanna come back to our bunkhouse tonight? Rest of 'em's gonna be out for a while. Last night, and all. We're flying tomorrow."

Simon held up a weak hand. "No more. Careless talk, remember?" 

Mal fished a matchbook from his pocket. Simon briefly wondered how it fit in such tight trousers and if all uniforms were cut so snugly. In the background, the band began to play again, something about wine and kisses sweeter than honey. Simon smiled to himself. Mal's kisses weren't sweet. They were hard and demanding and tasted of beer and smoke and Mal, and they were wonderful.

Mal lit up another cigarette and drew on it, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, right. Careless. Comin'?"

"Mal…" Simon hesitated, then plucked the cigarette from Mal's fingers and drew on it himself.

"What?" Mal turned, pressing Simon back against the wall with his body. "Come on, Simon. Could be my last night on this earth, and I wanna spend it with you."

Simon stared up at him. "I'm sure whoever you used that line on last night -"

"Ain't no-one else, Simon. Ain't a line. I don't do this." Mal lifted a hand to touch Simon's face. "Come back with me tonight."

"I want to," Simon admitted. "I do. God help me, I want to, Mal, only… it's illegal."

"So's black market honey."

Simon smiled at that, and stretched up to press his lips to the American's. Mal made a soft startled sound then kissed him back, and then it was sweet. Sweet and teasing and still demanding, and Simon moaned in welcome as Mal's tongue slid into his mouth, dropping the cigarette onto the wet ground to wrap his arms around the warm strength offered. The kiss deepened and continued until Simon was convinced he'd pass out from lack of air, but that was preferable to stopping.

Eventually Mal lifted his head and broke the kiss. "That a yes?"

Simon took a deep breath. "What about Frye? Isn't she still in your barracks?"

"Sweet suffering Christ!" Mal touched his forehead to Simon's. "Gotta be somewhere we can go. I need to have you. Need to see you, touch you, feel you, taste you -"

"There is," Simon interrupted hastily before the list could get any more tempting. "There's my room. I don't share it with anyone."

Mal grinned and kissed him again, quick and hard and hot. "Anyone ever tell you you're a Goddamn genius, Captain Tam?"

***

Mal sauntered slowly back around to the front of the hall while Simon went inside to fetch his coat and make his excuses to Sister Serra. He lit up another cigarette and leaned back against the wall by the door, wondering what in hell he thought he was doing. The kid - no, man, Simon was definitely no kid, no matter how young he looked - was right, what he wanted was illegal. Matter of fact, what they'd already done was enough to get both of them locked away, if anyone had caught them and it wasn't wartime.

He threw the butt to the ground, stamping it out with the toe of his boot. He'd always thought of himself as strong. What he wanted - what he _was_ \- wasn't just socially unacceptable, it was viewed as downright wrong. Disgusting. Perverted. Sure, he'd lapsed a few times in his life, who hadn't? But generally, he was strong. Kept himself to himself, made sure he never promised more to any woman that he could give, and kept his own desires firmly under control.

But this time, this man… sweet Christ, control didn't even get consideration. Mal wanted Simon with all the weak-kneed urgency of a school kid with his first crush. Couldn't take his eyes off the man when he was in the same room, couldn't stop thinking about him when he wasn't…

"Hey, Reynolds!"

Mal looked up, startled out of his thoughts by the shout and the sound of an engine. "Monty! Had enough of dancing?"

Monty scowled, the expression strangely visible. Mal kind of missed Monty's beard, but regulations were regulations, even when they were damn stupid regulations. "Never enough girls around at these affairs. And your pretty private's cornered the best one again. Need a lift back to the base?"

"Only if you got room for one more." Out of the corner of his eye, Mal saw Simon emerging from the hall wrapped in his greatcoat, collar turned up against the chill. "Doc's coming to check on my mechanic."

"Be a bit of a squeeze, but sure." Monty stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Long as you don't mind being a touch squashed."

Mal grinned broadly. "Think we can live with that. Come on, Doc. Monty here's gonna take us back. Won't mind squeezing in with me, will you?"

The corners of Simon's mouth twitched as he clambered into the back of the vehicle. "Not at all, Captain."

***

Simon stood back to let Mal into his room first. It wasn't much of a room, but it was private. A chair, a washstand, a nightstand, a very worn rug, a couple of hooks on the back of the door to hold uniforms…a bed. A standard issue bed with a thin mattress and thinner blanket. Simon tried very hard not to look at the bed. Away from the searing urgency that had possessed him back in town, away from the heat of Mal's leg pressed against his, he was nervous. Not doubtful, as such. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Mal, any way he could get him. Mal, close to him, touching him, in him, around him, with him… but reason kept pointing out how reckless that would be. How wrong. How good.

"Nice place you got here." Mal shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair.

Simon closed the door and turned slowly, still hugging his coat tightly around himself. "It's convenient, I suppose. For work, I mean."

"And for other things." Mal moved around the room, not looking at him. "Bring many visitors here?"

Simon stiffened at the implication. "No! No, I never…" He took a deep breath, fingers loosening slightly on fabric. "You're the first."

"First?" Mal glanced back at him briefly then crossed the room to grasp his upper arms. "Simon? You okay?"

Simon tried to speak but failed, settling for a nod.

Mal frowned at him. "No, you ain't. You're half dead of tired, and you're shakin' like a leaf in the wind. Want me to go?"

"No!" It was torn from him with even more force than last time. "No, please, I… stay?" He forced his shoulders down. "You don't have to go."

"Don't much want to," Mal admitted, still holding Simon in place. "Just got to thinking a bit, is all. Simon, just 'cause I'm here don't mean we gotta do anything. Don't have to do anything 'less both of us want to. And if that means we sit and play cards all night, that's what we do."

"I don't have any cards." Simon relaxed a little further. "Mal, I don't… don't really know how to say this. What I want - what I feel - well, everything I ever heard is that it's wrong. But when you touch me, it's just good and right and… good." He trailed off, desperately hoping for some sort of response that wouldn't make him want to crawl into a hole and hide.

"Don't see anythin' wrong with two people takin' what pleasure they can in these times, long as it don't hurt anyone. Ain't gonna lie to you, Simon. I've heard the same. Don't make no difference to how I feel with you though." Warm fingers brushed hair back from Simon's face. "Don't stop me wanting you."

Simon backed away a step, took off his coat, and looked the captain in the eye. "I want you, too," he whispered. "But I don't know what to do. I mean, I've heard, but… I'm not sure how."

Mal's face split in a relieved smile. "Oh, Simon, there's more ways of how than I'm knowing. Seemed to be doing okay earlier."

"That was earlier. This is… oh, God, Mal, please just stop talking and kiss me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Mal pulled Simon into his arms and bent his head down to kiss him. Mouths touched, softly and hesitantly then pressing more firmly, moving against each other, tasting and licking and exploring. Simon held onto Mal tightly as his knees gave way and his world shrank to Mal and Mal's mouth and Mal's hands and Mal's body and the need for more.

By the time Mal broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. Mal's shirt was open and hanging from his shoulders. Simon's jacket had gone and his shirt was half undone, though he didn't remember how. He looked up to see Mal gazing down at him, hair messed, lips swollen, utterly tempting. Simon let his eyes play over the planes of the strong face before trying to find his voice. "More?"

"More," Mal agreed, voice husky, and steered Simon towards the bed. "I do anything you ain't comfortable with, you tell me to stop."

"As long as you promise the same." Simon shrugged off his shirt and let it fall to the floor, sitting on the mattress.

The rest of their clothes were disposed of quickly, removing any barriers as they explored each other with hands and mouths. The harsh light of the single unshaded light bulb highlighted angles and shadowed hollows, pointing the sharp contrast between Simon's pale skin and Mal's light tan pressed against each other on the narrow bed.

Mal propped himself on his side, lazily running his hand over Simon's chest, slowly moving ever lower over ribs and stomach. Simon watched his hand, mesmerised, fire trailing through his body every place Mal's fingers touched, aching with need, harder than he'd ever been in his life. When the calloused fingers finally closed around his cock, Simon couldn't suppress a soft groan.

Mal stopped immediately and let go. "Simon?"

"Mal. God, Mal, that's just… don't stop. Please?"

Tension dropped from Mal's shoulders as he smiled. "Just checking. Got anything slick?"

"Cold cream in the drawer by your left shoulder. Why?" 

"You really ain't done this before, have you?" Mal reached over to the drawer and retrieved the jar. "Can't get inside you without something to ease the way. And I don't want you coming 'til I'm so far in you can't find the join between us." He hesitated. "You do _want_ me in you?"

In answer, Simon hooked his leg around Mal's hips, his arm around his neck, rolled onto his side and pulled the other man down for a fierce hungry kiss. "Yes. More than anything."

Mal grinned, and pushed his thigh between Simon's legs. Simon gasped, pressing himself against the hard muscles and rubbing, desperate for closer contact.

"Well, if we're going to hell, 'least the both of us are gonna enjoy the journey." Mal's mouth descended again, tracing a path of hot kisses down Simon's neck until his tongue licked wet circles against Simon's collarbone, making him writhe. At the same time, one hand followed Simon's spine down his back to caress his buttocks. "God, Simon, such a sweet ass. Can't wait to be in you."

Simon was lost, caught between Mal's lips moving against his shoulder and Mal's hand on his bottom, mindless with want as slippery fingers pried his cheeks apart just far enough for one blunt fingertip to rest against the entrance to his body.

"Simon. Come on, sweetheart. Open your eyes and look at me."

Simon did, wondering when his eyes had closed, because he definitely didn't want to miss that look on Mal's face as the finger pressed inside him and his back arched, pushing onto it greedily.

"God, sweetheart, you're so fucking gorgeous. You should see yourself."

Simon shook his head at the breathy whisper. "I rather like seeing you."

"Can't fault your taste." Mal withdrew his finger. Simon moaned at the loss. "Easy, Simon. Ain't stopping, promise. Don't think I could stop now if I was wanting to." Two fingers pushed slowly into him, stretching him, making him gasp. "Which, if you ain't noticed, I'm not."

Simon bit his lip as Mal's fingers twisted and curved. He'd noticed. Couldn't really avoid noticing when Mal's cock was hot and hard and pulsing against his hip. Mal turned his hand, thumb brushing against Simon's buttocks as his fingers pressed in deeper, nudging against a place that made Simon's hand close convulsively on Mal's shoulders as fiery pleasure shot straight to the base of his cock, making him squirm.

Mal was watching him intently. "Good?"

Breathing was getting difficult, speaking more so. "God, Mal, yes! Do that again?"

Mal did it again, taking Simon's soft moans of pleasure into his kiss. "Sorry, sweetheart, I just can't wait any longer. Need to have you. Okay with that?"

"Oh, my God, yes. Yes, Mal, yes, please, yes." Simon knew he was babbling, but couldn't stop, any more than he could stop the shaking that began when gentle hands rolled him over onto all fours and nudged his legs apart.

"Shh, Simon, it's okay. Gonna feel a mite odd at first, then I'm gonna make you feel so good, promise. Just gotta keep on breathing for me, clear?"

Mal's cock was pressing against his opening, hot and slick, and then with one quick jerk of his hips, the head was inside. Simon caught his breath, twisting his neck to look back at Mal, whose face was a study in desire and concentration.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Mal reminded him. "Relax for me if you can."

Right. Breathe. Simon focused on breathing, feeling his muscles relax as he let the breath out slowly, and Mal moved further into him slowly. Simon dropped his head to the pillow. It hurt, and it burned, but the burn fed the need and it was so damn good to have Mal inside him, hot and solid and feeling huge, stretching him, opening him, filling him, hands holding his hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles even as he stopped moving, finally fully seated. Simon couldn't suppress a shudder at that thought, and felt more than heard Mal's groan.

"God, Simon, so sweet, so tight, so hot, oh, sweetheart, gonna be so good…"

"Already is," Simon managed. "Mal, please, oh, please!"

Mal began to move, small movements in and out, slow and gentle, hands urging Simon to rock back against him, building to a steady rhythm, now and again stroking against that incredible spot and setting off white sparks behind Simon's eyelids. Simon clutched at the sheets, fingers twisting fabric into tight knots, keening his need into the pillow as orgasm coiled relentlessly in the pit of his stomach. Sweat-slick skin pressed against his back as Mal leaned forwards to catch his ear lobe in strong teeth and whisper "Ready, sweetheart? Ready to come with me?"

"Yesss…" and then he lost the ability to speak or think or do anything except feel as Mal drove into him hard and fast, hitting that place every time he moved, and Mal's hand closed on Simon's weeping cock, rubbing him roughly and just right until Simon turned his head for a desperate kiss as his climax ripped through him, clenching and releasing every muscle in his body as he came in fierce spurts on the scratchy blanket. Mal's hips snapped against him one more time and he bit down on Simon's shoulder, muffling his hoarse yell as he came, spilling heat deep inside Simon as they both fell forwards to the bed, which creaked in protest. Several minutes later, Simon stirred, still shaking in reaction, opening his eyes to see Mal watching him, lips curved in a tender smile. The lips moved. "Hi."

Simon smiled in response. "Hello."

"You okay?"

"Never better," Simon told him truthfully. "You?"

"Could say the same. Relax for me?"

"What? Oh, right. Sorry."

Mal chuckled as he pulled out of Simon's lax body. Simon hissed at the friction over sensitive flesh, and Mal rolled onto his back, pulling Simon over to lie on top of him. "Got nothing to be sorry about, Simon, so don't you dare try apologising to me."

"I didn't… sorry."

Mal snorted. "Stop that!"

"Sorry." Simon grinned.

Mal sighed. "Well, if I gotta shut you up…"

Simon's next "sorry" was smothered by Mal's kiss.

"Now go to sleep. You need it."

"But the blanket -"

"I'll keep you warm." Arms tightened around Simon.

"No, I mean you'll get stuck to it!"

Rolling his eyes, Mal released Simon and sat up, waiting for Simon to fetch a flannel from the sink and clean first the blanket then, after rinsing the cloth, himself, and finally passed it to Mal. Mal wiped himself down swiftly then threw the flannel back across the room and moved under the covers, holding them up until Simon joined him. 

"Now you gonna sleep?" he asked, dropping a gentle kiss on Simon's lips.

"Mmm." Simon pillowed his head on Mal's shoulder. "Couldn't stop me."

"Don't plan to."

***

Mal woke at some unidentifiable hour in the night, Simon still curled against his side. He blinked against the brightness, wondering for a moment if it was morning already before realising that neither of them had managed to turn the light out before falling asleep. Groaning inwardly, Mal carefully disentangled himself from Simon and slipped out of bed.

His attention was distracted by a framed photograph on the cabinet. It showed a pretty girl with solemn eyes and long dark hair, laughing directly into the camera. Her eyes looked dark compared to Simon's clear blue, but she had his way of holding her head and the same directness in her gaze.

"Mal?"

He turned. Simon was squinting up at him from the bed, face rumpled from sleep and his hair in messy clumps. Mal had never seen anything more inviting. "Was just gonna get the lights."

"'Kay," Simon murmured, dropping his head back to the pillow. "Come back soon."

Mal crossed the room to snap the light off, and then made his cautious way back in the sudden darkness. Simon shifted to make room for him again, easily fitting back into his embrace. Mal ran his fingers through his lover's hair, easing out the tangles. "That your sister? In the photo?"

The body in Mal's arms tensed. "Yes."

"Pretty. Looks like you." He hesitated, and then continued, "Gonna tell me the truth of her and you?"

"I'm not even sure there is a truth."

"Your truth, then. I ain't too fussy on the details right now. Just know it's bothering you."

Simon sighed, breath ghosting over Mal's skin and raising goosebumps. "Are you sure? It's a long story."

"Sure." Mal kissed Simon's forehead. "Tell me."

"It's… All right. You know she's overseas?"

Mal let his hand drift down to rest in the small of Simon's back. "Reckon I heard so."

"She wanted to go. River…she always knew what she wanted. She's exceptionally intelligent. When she left school, my parents wanted her to go to finishing school, but River had other ideas. She went to Oxford." Simon sounded wistful. "Pure and applied mathematics. Double first. Or the equivalent grade, anyway. They don't award degrees to women."

Simon fell silent, and Mal kissed the top of his head, simply because he wanted to. Cool strands of hair tickled his lips like living silk. "Surprised they let her go at all."

"Sometimes I wish they hadn't. It was there…she was invited to join the civil service, and then war broke out and Intelligence got interested. I didn't see her for a long while." Simon's fingers worried at Mal's shoulder. "There were letters. Heavily censored, naturally. I could tell River was enjoying the training, that it was challenging her. She was so excited when she got her first actual assignment."

"And what were you doing all this time, save getting letters?" Mal wished he could see Simon's face, but suspected he wouldn't be talking about his sister at all if the light were on. Still, Simon's voice had turned so carefully flat, so empty of any trace of emotion.

"Me? Oh. I made surgeon just before the war started. I spent six months proving to my C.O. that I knew which end of a scalpel to hold, and then the casualties began arriving home. Not so bad at first, a real mix. Then, after the first year, they started getting worse. Missing limbs, serious nerve damage, chemical burns… not one I didn't feel guilty about signing back, but there are fixed criteria. As long as they meet those… Well. I was assigned to the san long-term, and then, then I got a letter inviting me to visit River."

Mal lay perfectly still, feeling the tension in Simon's body tighten to trembling. "How long since you'd seen her?"

"Then? Three years. We never managed to get leave at the same time. I didn't expect to be able to see her even then, but Major Mackenzie knew people who knew people…and so there I was, and there she was, in someone's tiny office. We didn't have time to leave the base, even. She told me she'd been offered a posting overseas. She couldn't tell me the details, just that it was important, and it would make full use of all her training. God, Mal, she was so excited, so happy! Overseas… Most people don't come back. She shouted at me when I asked her not to take it. Told me she had the best chance of success. I begged her not to go, said someone else could do it… and that's when her C.O. came in. He'd heard most of it. River accepted the posting then and there." 

Hot dampness slid across Mal's chest, quickly cooled by Simon's shallow breaths. "He reported back to Major Mackenzie, and I got a lecture about questioning orders. Then I was reassigned. I've heard nothing from her since. I just wanted her to be safe, and now I don't know where she is or how she is or even if she's still alive!" Despair edged Simon's tone. "I'm supposed to be glad she's doing this for her country. I'm supposed to be here to get some distance." Simon twisted in Mal's arms, moving on top of him, kissing him quickly and desperately. "I'm supposed to forget, but I can't stop thinking about her."

Mal raised his hand to cup Simon's jaw, bringing his face down for another kiss. Simon responded with wild abandon, tongue thrusting against Mal's own, body writhing against him, pulling back to trail wet kisses over Mal's face and neck until he was dizzy. Teeth pulled at his ear. "You can make me stop thinking," Simon whispered harshly. "Help me, Mal, please. Make me forget. Just for tonight."

Mal flipped them over, careful not to roll off the narrow bed, and ran his hand slowly and firmly down Simon's side to grasp his hip. Simon bucked against him, hands dragging him closer in an urgent appeal Mal couldn't, didn't want to refuse. Fumbling for the cold cream in the darkness, Mal took Simon into him and rode him to giddy oblivion.


	3. Some corner of a foreign field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serenity's crew leave for their mission. Some people are waiting anxiously for their return.

"Mal?"

He looked around. Simon was sitting up in his bed, blanket slipped down to his waist, arms wrapped around his knees, face pale in the first light of dawn creeping around the blackout. Mal tugged his bootlaces tight and went back to kiss him softly. "Gotta go, Simon. Orders."

Simon nodded, smiling tentatively. "So it wasn't a line."

"God's own truth, sweetheart." Mal grinned, and then pulled Simon into a quick hug. "And you should still be sleeping. Had a long shift yesterday, and that wasn't hardly a restful night."

"Worth it, though."

"Oh, yeah. Can't argue with that. Free later?" Mal moved away reluctantly and retrieved his jacket.

Simon yawned and lay down again. "Should be. Not due on shift until nineteen hundred."

"Then I'll see you when I'm back."

"I'd like that, Mal."

"Me too, Simon. Me too."

Mal closed the door quietly behind him, headed for the exit and ran across the base to his barracks. He had just enough time for a quick wash and shave before Washburne arrived, looking glazed and even more goofy than usual. Knowing his own face probably wore a similar expression, Mal forbore to comment, rousing the rest of his crew and ignoring Kaylee's pleas to come with them.

"Nuh-uh. You follow the doctor's orders, Kay. Light duties, and keep that arm clean." Mal paused, remembering some of the orders that same doctor had issued last night once he'd lost his shyness and hesitancy. The kind of orders Mal had been more than happy to follow. Orders like "kiss me", "touch me", "harder", "faster", "more"...

"Captain?"

Mal blinked, his pleasant memories interrupted by a less pleasant face. "Two minutes, Cobb. Kay, got some paper?"

Puzzled, Kaylee tore a page out of her diary and offered it to him. Mal took it with a nod of thanks, pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, scribbled a few words on it, folded it and handed it back. "You make sure Dr. Tam gets this, clear?"

Kaylee nodded, looking curiously at the paper.

"An' don't you go reading it, neither. Okay, people, we've got our orders. Time to go to work."

***

Next time Simon woke, sun was streaming through his tiny window into his room through the gaps in the blackout curtains. Wincing slightly as muscles protested, he rolled out of bed to push back the heavy fabric and let the light in. The sight revealed was chaotic: his clothes strewn around the room, one shoe under the bed, the other by the sink, River's photograph face down on the cabinet. Simon stretched, triggering aches that brought memories of last night. Memories of hands and lips and Mal, of kisses and touches and whispered words of encouragement.

Simon shook his head to clear it, crossing to the sink to wash and shave. He started at the sight of his reflection. His lips were pink and swollen, his eyes were shining, and an interesting pattern of purple marks decorated his chest and shoulders. Each hip had a cluster of bruises that looked suspiciously like finger marks. He laughed, oddly pleased to see evidence that he really had spent the night making love with Malcolm Reynolds. 

Ablutions complete, Simon tidied his room, dressed (making certain his sweater had a high neck), made the bed, and then headed out into the morning sunshine.

He'd barely made it outside before he was accosted by Private Frye waving a folded paper. "Hey, Doctor! Dr. Tam! Cap'n left you a note!"

"Thank you." Simon took it with a warm smile, unfolding it and quickly scanning the contents. His smile broadened. 

"So, you gonna come wait with us? Serenity's due back any time. The Brutus and Ariel Queen are here already!" Kaylee was practically bouncing with excitement.

Simon tucked the note away securely in his pocket. "Yes, Kaylee. I'll come."

***

Most of the squadron had returned by the time they reached the airfield. Kaylee led Simon directly to a dusky-skinned woman leaning against the side of a van.

"Doc, this is Zoë Alleyne. She's our driver. Zoë, this is Dr. Tam."

Alleyne stubbed her cigarette out and extended a hand. "So, this is the famous Captain Simon Tam." She looked him up and down as Simon shook her hand. She had a firm, definite grip, and he had the feeling he was being measured. At length, Alleyne nodded and released him. "Think you might just do. Kay, they're still not in."

"Not in? Oh, but they'll be here soon, right? Serenity'll bring them home."

Simon fingered the note in his pocket and believed her.

***

An hour later, every plane but two had returned. Kaylee had her head under the van's bonnet. Zoë's hand shook slightly as she lit the last cigarette in her packet. Simon folded his arms and waited.

***

Persephone came limping in another hour later, her windscreen shattered and half her landing gear missing. As soon as she was safely down, Zoë was there, helping to bring out crewmembers and talking. As Simon watched, her shoulders fell and she turned back.

"Serenity ain't coming. Got shot down. Two parachutes."

The airfield fell silent. In the distance, a blackbird called for its mate.

Simon swallowed. "Do they... is it... who?"

Her face was blank. "No way of telling, Doc. Best not to hope."

"I see. I'm...I'm sorry, Miss Alleyne."

Zoë's right hand settled on her stomach, fingers splayed in a protective gesture. "So'm I, Doc."

Simon nodded, closing his ears to Kaylee's broken cry, and walked blindly back to his room, all warmth stolen from the morning sunshine. He sat on the bed, and could still smell Mal on the covers and pillows. He moved to the chair, and remembered Mal's jacket draped over it. He looked at River's photograph, and pulled out Mal's note.

> _Simon,_
> 
> Didn't want to leave you this morning. Hope you know that.
> 
> Seems to me you and I got the chance of something here. Never seen moonlight before like you showed me last night. Want to show me the sunshine this afternoon? Hear there's some pretty sights round here, though I'm damn sure I've already seen the best.
> 
> You ever want more honey, you let me know.
> 
> See you soon, sweetheart.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Mal

Simon folded the page carefully and hid it in the frame between the photograph and the cardboard backing. Then he went to report for duty.

***

After the first day, the soreness faded.

After three, the bruises disappeared. 

After four, Simon changed his bed linen and Mal's smell was gone, but his presence was everywhere, burned into Simon's memory, held in his heart. If he let himself, Simon could still feel the ghosts of hands on his body, hear a husky voice whisper his name. It seemed incredible, but after just that one night together, he missed Mal as if part of his soul was torn away. The ache only left him when he was busy working, or too exhausted to dream.

After six days, Simon reviewed Kaylee's files, and recommended a full discharge on medical grounds, although she was healing well. It wasn't contested. For the first time in months, he telephoned his parents, and then packaged Kaylee off on the train with her few belongings stowed safely in Mal's trunk.

After a week, the Times lists were posted. Simon found Zoë at his shoulder as he tried to read the names. The list of those missing in action was longer than the list of confirmed casualties, and included most of Serenity's crew, but not Mal. Zoë's sharp intake of breath, and her finger against the glass protecting the newspaper, brought his attention to the list of confirmed prisoners of war. One name leapt out at him.

> _Reynolds, Capt. Malcolm, 52nd_

And, a little further down:

> _Washburne, Cpl. Hoban, 52nd_

Next time Simon was offered a posting to the front, he accepted.

***

Zoë and Inara both disapproved, and didn't stint in saying so.

"If you're getting romantical notions about him turning up in your camp, forget them," Zoë told him bluntly. "If they do get out alive, which ain't likely, they'll head for here or home. He ain't gonna be able to find you if you're gadding about Europe."

Simon calmly folded River's photograph in a spare shirt and put it into his trunk. "I'm well aware of that. I know very well that it's likely they're both already dead, and I don't expect to see him again."

Inara's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Field hospitals aren't the only source of distraction, Simon."

"Where else can I be busy enough not to think?" He closed the trunk and fastened the buckles, taking a last look around the tiny room. "Besides, I can make a difference there. Do my bit. They need me. If there's..." he faltered and took a deep breath, "news of River or... them... you'll let me know?"

"If we can, Simon." Inara hugged him tightly. "Now, go. You have to catch your train."

To Simon's shock, Zoë hugged him as well. "Try not to get yourself killed, you hear me?" 

"I will. Won't, I mean." He hefted his trunk. "Say goodbye to Kaylee for me."

"We will," Zoë answered, and held the door wide for him.

***

"Visitor for you, Captain Tam."

Simon glanced up at the orderly in surprise. "They'll have to wait. I'm busy."

"Sister said you should go, sir." Atkins stood his ground. "Major Grainger's taking your rounds this afternoon, sir. Sister said, sir, if you don't stop, she'll drag you out herself. I'd believe her, sir, if I were you."

"So would I, lad." Grainger stood in the doorway, amusement mixed with concern on his face. "You never did take enough time to recover from that bout of flu. Go and see your visitor, and take the afternoon off. That's an order, Captain."

Simon closed his eyes in frustration and fought off another wave of dizziness. "Yes, Major." He stripped off his scrubs and started towards the door. 

Grainger's hand on his arm stopped him. "I mean it, Tam. If you keep working yourself into the ground, I'm going to have to recommend you be reassigned. You're damn good at what you do, but I need you fit to do it."

"Yes, Major," he repeated dully. The major released him with a doubtful look, and Simon walked out.

He'd been working in various field hospitals for six months. At first, the primitive conditions were a shock, as were the extent of the injuries he was expected to treat without sending the men home for decent facilities and recovery time. Now, it was routine, and it almost helped. On good days, when he could be strong, he only thought of Mal four or five times. Inara and Kaylee sent letters; he'd had two from each of them, though he suspected there had been more that had got lost. They carefully avoided any mention of Mal. Zoë didn't write. 

Reaching the sister's office, Simon didn't recognise his visitor at first. The only inhabitant of the small room was a thin young woman with her dark hair neatly bobbed, drinking tea from Sister's best china. It wasn't until she set her cup and saucer down and turned to look at him that he saw his sister in the confident and self-possessed woman.

"River?"

"Simon!" She beamed, springing up from her chair to envelop him in an enthusiastic hug. Simon wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly, relieved and thankful and refusing to acknowledge his brief hope that she'd been someone else. Someone taller, male, American. Someone with blue eyes instead of brown.

"Oh, God, River! What are you doing here, brat?" He released her at last, dropping into a free chair.

She stuck her tongue out at him before sitting down again. "Nice to see you too, Simon. I could ask you the same question, if the answer weren't obvious. You're trying to kill yourself."

Simon caught his breath at the accusation, which triggered another bout of coughing that left him breathless, and her scowling. "It's nothing," he defended, waving a hand at her to stop her from getting up again. "Just the end of a cold. It _is_ good to see you, River. And I'm here working. Doing my bit. That's all."

"No, it's not," she insisted, eyes narrowing. "You're pining."

"Pining? River, you make me sound like some Victorian heroine! And you still haven't said why you're here." Simon leaned his head against the back of the chair. The room was over-hot, a small fire burning fiercely in the grate. "We're in the middle of France. You're hardly likely to have just dropped by for tea."

River made a face at him. "I did. New assignment, new papers, no, I'm not telling you any more. Now, tell me about this man you're pining for. Don't look so shocked! Of course it's a man. I'm not completely stupid. I'm your sister. I know."

Simon smiled at her. "You always know. Mother and Dad wouldn't approve."

"They never approve. Oh, you mean... Oh, Simon, not an _American_!"

"Yes." It was surprisingly easy to tell her. "He was captain of a bomber crew. His plane was shot down. He never came back." The buzzing in his head was getting louder, and River was getting blurry. It wasn't like her. She was sharp. Must be something she'd been trained in. Some kind of camouflage.

"Simon?"

He grinned and let his eyes close. "His name was Mal."

"Simon? Simon!"

Simon slipped down into the blessed darkness where Mal was always waiting for him.

***

"Captain Tam."

Simon forced his eyes open at the sound of Sister Miller's brisk tones. She was staring at him from an odd angle. After a few seconds, he worked out that he was lying in bed. Which meant that Sister was in his bunkhouse. Which meant that someone had moved him from her office. "River?"

"She had to go, lad." Major Grainger moved into view. "She was worried about you, but she had to go."

"About me?" Simon tried to push himself up into a sitting position and failed. His voice wasn't behaving properly, and it felt as though something heavy was sitting on his chest. "I'm fine. Just tired." He attempted a deeper breath and burst into helpless coughing that set his head and his heart pounding.

"That was two weeks ago." Sister put an arm under his shoulders and lifted him, pressing a cup to his lips. Irritated but unable to push her away, Simon sipped.

"Thank you, Sister, I'll take it from here." Grainger waited for her to leave before turning back to Simon. "That influenza you neglected settled on your chest, Tam. You've had pneumonia. Well, technically, still _have_ pneumonia. I'm sending you home. Can't work like this. Medical leave for three months, then report to the nearest war office medical officer for assessment."

Simon blinked at him in shock. Two weeks? Three months? Home?

"You're not fit to make the journey, of course, but if you were, I wouldn't be sending you away. They're sending two new medics to replace you, and they arrive tomorrow." Grainger looked down at him sympathetically. "Sorry to hear about your girl, but I have to say, if every man who lost his girl worked the way you have, I'd be shooting them down myself."

"My girl?" Simon whispered, careful not to aggravate the irritation in his throat or chest.

"Your sister told us when you started talking. Mel, and the bombing incident. Damn shame. Still. You're on the three o' clock train. Atkins is going home on leave and is going to keep an eye on you." For a moment, Grainger looked tired. "Do yourself a favour, lad. Try not to come back."

***

Simon didn't remember much of the journey home, which, he later reflected, was probably a blessing. Fever blended days of train, boat and train travel into an unreal blur until Atkins left him sitting on his trunk at Waterloo station. Shaking, pale and sweating, Simon knew he looked bad, but compared to others taken off the same train, at least he still had enough limbs to stand on his own and drag his trunk over to the public telephones by the ticket office.

"Hello, Tam residence?" a female voice said brightly.

"Kaylee! Oh, thank God!" Simon leaned against the side of the call box.

"Who is it? How'd you know my name?"

"Kaylee, it's me: Simon. Ah... Dr. Tam."

"Simon!" Her voice grew noticeably warmer. "Hey! How you doing? Get my letters? Did you wanna speak with your folks? Where you calling from?"

"London." He took shallow breaths, willing the weakness away.

"London?"

"Kaylee, please. There was meant to be a wire... They sent me home, only I'm sick, I think, and I need somewhere to -"

"Where in London?"

"Waterloo station, but look, Kaylee -"

"Nuh-uh. You stay put. Your daddy's got all this petrol he ain't used. I'm coming to get you. You just wait. Be there in just a few hours."

"Kaylee, wait!"

"No, Simon. You wait."

The line went dead. Simon stared at the receiver blankly for a few seconds before replacing the handset and slowly making his way to the waiting room, where he waited. Kaylee arrived sooner than he expected, or maybe he passed out again, he wasn't sure which. She took one look at him, firmed her lips and helped him out to the waiting car.

***

Cool linen. Soft feather pillows. A bed with no lumps in it. A bed that didn't move. No smell of damp. The sound of a fire crackling gently across the room. Simon blinked, looking around the room that had been his refuge during school holidays. It seemed the common saying was right. Home was where they had to take you in, no matter what. He rolled his head to the left and regretted it immediately as his head pounded in response. In fact, his entire body ached, and the pressure on his chest remained, but at least he could think again.

"Simon? Oh, hey, you're awake!" A face swam into focus, smiling hopefully at him. Kaylee. Mal's mechanic. God, Mal. Mal, in a prison camp, or dead. Simon wondered again if Mal had survived, and if he even remembered Simon after whatever he'd been through.

"How you feeling? Oh, no, wait, I gotta go tell your folks you're awake!"

She pattered across the room and Simon heard the familiar creak of the door opening followed by a soft murmur of voices. There was the sharp click of heels as his mother entered the room, her carefully plucked eyebrows drawn together in disapproval.

"Who ordered a fire in here? Coal is rationed, Miss Frye, and we need to save it for Gabriel's office."

"I did it." Kaylee sounded defiant and... nervous? That was wrong. "Doctor said he had to keep warm."

"Well, fetch him another blanket, then. Gracious, Miss Frye, anyone would think that you didn't know there was a war on." Regan Tam settled gracefully into the bedside chair. "Now, Miss Frye."

"Yes, ma'am." Kaylee fled.

Cool fingers brushed Simon's forehead and he fought the urge to flinch away. He'd forgotten how immensely self-centred his parents could be. Poor Kaylee. "Mother..."

"Simon. So you are awake this time. Good. It's taken you long enough." Regan paused to look at him sharply. "Honestly, Simon, what were you thinking to send your mistress here? An American as well, and so common. She won't do, Simon. I hope you weren't thinking of marrying her."

"Thinking of -?" Simon stared at his mother in shock, swallowing and licking his lips in an attempt to moisten his dry mouth. "Mother, Kaylee is my _friend_. Not my mistress, and I'm not going to marry her. My _friend_ , and she needed somewhere to stay. Rest assured, as soon as I'm well enough, we'll both be gone."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Simon. This is your home. You don't need to go. What would people think?"

Simon closed his eyes in disbelief. His mother had actually got worse. What did it matter what people thought?

"Mrs. Tam? I got the blanket."

"Just leave it on the end of the bed, Miss Frye." Regan flipped a hand at her dismissively.

"No!" Simon struggled to sit up. "No, Kaylee, stay, please. Mother was just leaving. Weren't you, Mother? Or are you afraid that I'll make an assault on her virtue?"

Regan rose from her chair with dignity, and left without another word. Kaylee made a face at her back as the door closed. Simon chuckled, the laughter tangling with a cough in the back of his throat. Before he could catch his breath, Kaylee was next to him, rubbing his back with one hand and pressing a glass of water into his grasp with the other. Simon drank gratefully, waiting for the spasms to subside. Kaylee watched him anxiously, taking the glass away and tucking the new blanket around his shoulders. 

"Thank you, Kaylee." He held his hand out to her, and waited for her to take it. "I'm so sorry, Kaylee, for my family. I didn't think - "

"They ain't so bad, Simon," she assured him. "Your daddy don't mind me tinkering with his motor car, and me'n Cook are getting on real well."

"Kaylee -"

"No. You gave me someplace to go, and I'm grateful for that. 'Sides, Zoë says I can go stay with her once her baby's born. And your sister's coming to visit next week, and I'm looking forward to meeting her. So, we gotta get you strong enough to be up when she arrives."

Simon's eyes were suspiciously wet. "Oh, God, Kaylee. What would I do without you?" He squeezed her hand and lay back against the headboard. "Always so bright."

Kaylee grinned. "Cap'n used to hate it. Said it was more than a body could take in the mornin's."

Simon rather doubted that. His one memory of Mal in the morning was of a remarkably alert and content man. "Is it morning?"

Kaylee waved at the window with her free hand. "Yep. Well, kinda. Nearly midday, though you can't know it from that grey sky. Oh, I nearly forgot! That sister you knew back at the base sent on a package for you!"

Freeing her hand, she reached under his bed and placed a brown-paper-wrapped parcel in his lap. Simon stared at it for a moment, and then looked pointedly at his shaking hands. Kaylee giggled, and untied the string, leaving him to pull the paper apart and unroll the fabric wrapped bundle inside. A small jar thudded onto the bedcovers.

Kaylee gave a puzzled frown. "What's she sending you honey for, Simon?"

"She didn't send it, Kaylee. She just sent it on." His fingers found a slip of paper folded in the cloth. 

"Oh, you got a note? What's it say?"

Simon's vision blurred. "I can't... Kaylee, would you...?"

She unfolded the paper and squinted at it. "It says, 'Hope you still got a sweet tooth'."

***

Simon went downstairs for the first time on the day River's telegram arrived. Kaylee had just settled him into a chair in the drawing room, looking disappointed by his absolute refusal to be swathed in blankets any longer, when the doorbell sounded.

Kaylee looked at him anxiously. Simon sighed. "You don't have to, Kaylee. Honestly. You shouldn't let my parents treat you like a servant. You aren't."

"Not like they treat you much better," she retorted. "It don't do no harm, and they _are_ giving me a home."

"That's not... Fine. Go. I'm not stopping you."

"Thanks, Simon." She dashed from the room, returning moments later holding an envelope. "Telegram. Says it's for you."

"For me?" Simon frowned. "Surely my father -"

"Nope. You by name." She handed it over, sitting next to him.

Simon opened the envelope slowly, his expression clearing as he read the card inside. "It's from River! She says she's arriving on the twentieth at three thirty, and can we send the car to meet her? Oh, and she's bringing a friend."

"That's today!" Kaylee bounced up. "And it's ten to three now, and it'll take me half an hour to get to the station - you gonna be okay here on your own?"

"I'll be fine, Kaylee. How many times do I need to tell you not to fuss? I've got plenty of books, and if I feel really daring I could even play the piano."

"Oh, that'd be real nice. Zoë said you played at that dance I couldn't go to, said you were real good, too. I sure would like to hear you sometime." She grinned at him hopefully.

Simon shook his head carefully. "Another time, Kaylee. When I've had a chance to practise." He'd not played since that dance. Hadn't had the chance. Hadn't wanted to.

"Okay, well, I gotta go. You sure you're gonna be -"

" _Fine_ , Kaylee." He chuckled, successfully suppressing the urge to cough.

She hovered by the doorway before leaving. A minute or so later, Simon heard the engine of his father's car sputter to life then fade into the distance. He reached for the first book from the pile by his elbow and attempted to distract himself as the clock chimed the hour.

The book couldn't hold his attention for long, and he laid it aside with a sigh. Kaylee's presence was a bright spark to lift his dark mood, but also a constant reminder of Mal. Her conversation was sprinkled with references to the captain, references that left Simon torn between wishing she'd never mention him again and wanting to ply her with questions to know more.

Using both hands to lever himself out of the chair, Simon moved across the room to the piano, leafing through the dusty music lying on the top. Selecting a piece of Schumann, he seated himself on the stool and lifted his hands to the keys. Hesitantly at first, and with many wrong notes, Simon fumbled through the short piece, beginning again immediately. More confident, Simon relaxed as the familiar melody returned, letting his mind wander to the mystery of the honey. Although the note had been unsigned, he'd compared it to Mal's earlier letter as soon as he was alone, and the handwriting matched. He'd been excited, then, hopeful, even, until his common sense had returned. He really had no idea how long Inara had held the package. It could have been sent the same day as the note Kaylee had handed him. No matter how much he wanted to believe Mal was alive and thinking of him, it wasn't proof. Not enough proof.

He finished the Schumann again, and let his fingers play over the keys, finding what they would. A chord of E flat. A rising motif. Two sets of triplets. Nightingale. He stopped, closing his eyes against the memories of a crowded dance hall and a dark alley and kisses that tasted of whisky and smoke. He could smell cigarette smoke now. Hallucinations. His father would never allow anyone to smoke in the drawing room. That was reserved for the library. The fever had to be returning.

Simon shut the keyboard, realising he was trembling from the effort of holding himself upright. Kaylee would scold him. The lid fell with a quiet thunk.

"You're quite the musician."

Simon froze at that voice, not daring to look behind him. Hallucinations. "Thank you."

"Ain't brought any whisky, this time, but I'm hoping the honey found you." Footsteps sounded, muffled by the rug as the voice came closer.

"It did. Thank you."

"Gonna turn 'round an' look at me then, Doc?"

Simon shook his head, not trusting his voice.

"Why not?" The man was right behind him now, only a few inches away.

"Because I don't want to wake up so soon," Simon whispered. Because it was another dream. Had to be.

Warm, solid, undeniably real hands descended on his shoulders and he fought the urge to lean back into them. "Could say the same, but you ain't sleeping now, Doc. Don't that feel real?"

It did, but... "Not real enough. He was... stronger. More definite."

"I'm thinking both of us have changed some. Simon I knew wasn't a fragile stick-thin length of bones. And he wasn't a coward."

Simon twisted around angrily at the accusation. "I'm _not_ a... oh, God, Mal. It's you. You're real. Really here."

Blue eyes burned into his intently. "Yep. I'm here. You're here. Gonna stand up and give me a proper welcome now?"

Simon made a noise that was part laugh, part sob and part cough. "I wish I could, Mal, but I can't."

"What's to stop you? Door's closed. Ain't nobody else here. Nobody to see us."

"No, I mean I _can't_. Physically can't."

Mal reached down and hoisted him up from the stool, half-helping, half-carrying him back to the chair and pushing him gently into it before standing back and surveying him critically. "Sweet suffering Christ on a crutch, Simon, what've you been doing to yourself?"

Simon's smothered laugh turned into a rattling cough that he tried to hide behind his hand. "Could ask you the same thing."

The Mal who stood in front of him was a very different Mal from the one he'd shared the night with eight months before. This Mal was thinner, greyer, lines of hardship and bitterness etched around his eyes and mouth. "Half a year in a prison camp ain't exactly a stroll in the park. You were meant to be _safe_. All I could think of, sometimes. At least he's safe."

"You were shot down. I thought... I didn't... I've been working, trying not to think. I got sick. I'm fine now."

"Don't look it." Mal scowled at him. "Y'mean, you might maybe have thought on me sometimes?"

"Only every minute I couldn't fill with work. You?"

"Day and night. Kept me sane, some days, recalling that night with you." Mal took Simon's hands and pulled him out of the chair into his arms. Simon clung to him tightly. "Kay gave you my note?"

"I've still got it," Simon admitted. "In River's... God, River! She'll be here any moment, and she's bringing a friend, and -"

"That's me. Smart woman, your sister. Insisted on bringing me to you soon as she could."

Simon smiled. "I'll have to thank her."

"Later," Mal told him. "She's off with Kay delivering Wash to Zoë. And from what Kay tells me, Zoë's gonna be delivering something to him sometime soon. Ain't important now, though. For now, I'm needing you to faint. Which, by the looks of it, you ain't far off doing."

"What?"

"Faint. Need an excuse to get you upstairs and into bed."

Simon blushed, feeling desire rush though him, making him light-headed. "Mal..."

Mal grinned and lowered his head to brush his lips gently over Simon's. Simon could feel the dryness, the new cracks in the lips he remembered so well, but they still moved the same way, still had the same effect on him, still fitted over his mouth perfectly. "Don't you worry. Gonna save that 'til you're stronger. Just need to hold you, and I'm thinkin' you need to lie down."

"You could be right. I need to hold you, too. Mal... I missed you."

"Yeah. Missed you, too. Now faint."

Simon grinned against Mal's shoulder and let himself go limp in his lover's arms. 

"Better," Mal said approvingly. "Though you ain't been eating enough, don't weigh hardly anything. Even Kaylee's heavier'n you, and she launched herself at me hard enough." Simon felt himself lifted as Mal hooked an arm under his knees. "Fancy coming home with me? Once the war's over, I mean. Gotta report back in a coupla weeks, but after that... Got me a ranch out Texas way my momma's about ready to stop running. Folks out there could do with a decent doc around."

"What?" Simon's eyes shot open as Mal bent to catch the door handle with his elbow.

"Come live with me. I mean it. Don't want you loose on your own. Can't trust you to look after yourself right."

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk about that. Besides, wouldn't we both end up in prison?"

"Shut up, you. Fainted folks don't jabber so much." There was a series of gentle dips and rises as Mal climbed the stairs. "Which way?"

"Second door on the left. Well?"

Mal deposited Simon on his bed then stretched out beside him. "Ain't likely. Ain't so much that folks are more open-minded as there's a lot more space for their minds to wander in." He rolled over and pulled Simon into his arms again. Simon shivered at the feel of Mal finally close to him once more, really real, really there, really alive, really Mal. "Well, sweetheart? What do you say? I can personally guarantee as much honey as you want."

Simon wrapped his arms around Mal. "Mal, honey?"

"Yeah?" 

"Please just stop talking and kiss me?"

"Ain't answered me."

"Sorr - mmph!"

Any further arguments Simon had were abandoned in favour of kissing Mal. At length, Mal drew back, dropping one more kiss on the end of Simon's nose. "Don't say sorry, sweetheart. Say yes. Only thing I'm wanting to hear you say."

Simon rested his head against Mal's shoulder, listening to his steady heartbeat. "Why?"

"Thought you were meant to be the smart one? Your sister had it figured out soon as she saw me." Mal's chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "Conjure it might just be that I love you."

"Oh." Simon fell silent, more convinced than ever that he was dreaming.

"Simon?" Mal sounded worried. "Ain't you got nothin' to say?"

"I, ah... I don't know where to start."

"Start with yes."

"Yes," repeated Simon obediently. "Yes, and I love you, Mal, and please _God_ let me not be dreaming this time and I can't breathe!"

Mal's arms loosened fractionally from the crushing hug they'd inflicted on Simon at "yes", giving room for Simon's lungs to start working again. "If you weren't sick, I'd pinch you just to prove you're awake. Matter of fact..."

"Ow!"

"Yep, you're awake. Ow!"

Simon grinned smugly. "So are you."


End file.
